Undercover
by Sarahbeara333
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been kidnapped and Auror Harry Potter is given the case. The funny thing is, the only piece of evidence he can seem to find is a business card for a brothel hidden in Draco's room… HP/DM SLASH Slow updates because of school work
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Draco Malfoy has been kidnapped and Auror Harry Potter is given the case. The funny thing is, the only piece of evidence he can seem to find is a business card for a brothel hidden in Draco's room…**

**Rating: NC-17**

**Disclaimer: None of these fabulous characters are, or ever will be, mine. They are all the property of the brilliant and extremely talented Jo Rowling.**

Undercover

"Auror Potter,"

Harry nodded at an intern whom he did not recognize.

"You've got a case; it's another a kidnapping."

Harry thanked the nervous looking man and took the manila case folder from his shaking hand. The intern skittered out of the room nervously. He flipped open the file and looked over the standard-issue ministry sealed paper, sighing. This was the third report of a kidnapping this month. He had been working painstakingly and drank too many sleepless night potions to count, and yet he did not have a single lead on who may be snatching the Wizards out of their homes. Worst of all, the only connections he had between the two cases he was working on previous were that they _were _both Wizards—and very fit ones at that.

He scanned the parchment with a professional eye, gathering all the necessary facts and ignoring the impertinent ones. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned the next piece of crisp form to cast a glance at the victim page and blinked in surprise. Well, fuck. Things had just gotten slightly more interesting. So Draco Malfoy had gone and gotten himself kidnapped. Harry's first instinct was to snort in disbelief (which he forewent because that would _certainly _not have been professional) and blow it off. After all, Malfoy was always one to try to draw attention; and what better way than to go missing entirely? If Harry were not on the clock and did not need to investigate _every _possible lead he could get to this seemingly impossible case he would get a celebratory drink with Ron and laugh at Malfoy's silly attempts at fame. Unfortunately for Harry, Ron, and the majority of the Wizarding community, it was his job to find the git and smack some sense in to his head that pretending to be kidnapped could hinder serious investigations and that he should return to his posh manor immediately.

_Unless he really is missing_, thought a small albeit very annoying voice at the back of Harry's head. Running his fingers through black, messy hair that he had not yet learned the trick to tame in all his twenty-four years, Harry scowled at nothing in particular and decided he may as well get the worst part of the investigation over. Harry snapped the file shut, straightened his glasses, and pushing away from his chair. He looked woefully around his soft, woody office and asked the mahogany chair,

"Why me?"

Harry moved the folder in to a locked desk drawer and disapperated with a loud crack to the outskirts of Malfoy Manor.

He popped in to existence outside the cast iron front gates and shuddered. The last time he had been here had been during the war and it appeared that some places never changed. The sky was a soft blue but it did nothing to defuse the foreboding sensation that Harry got as he pushed open the front gate.

A grayish green grass off of which sunlight glinted sharply skirted the long dark path that lead up to the front of the house. There were tall, menacing trees void of any sort of leaf scattered through out the enormous yard. In fact, the entire front of the house and garden looked as if it had been painted in shadows, except for the albino peacocks, elk, and rabbits that were trotting around prestigiously. Harry snorted at the sight. He thought that the Malfoy's should have been humbled after practically being exiled from the Wizarding World but it seemed that was far from the case. Let it be said that the Malfoy's had certainly not lost their pretentious edge since the war, no matter the public opinion of them.

Harry reached the crested oak doors still baffled by the Malfoy's ability to keep their heads high. He grabbed the heavy silver doorknocker—a curled snake, what a surprise—and banged it against the wood twice. After a few seconds of shuffling a house elf in a grubby pillowcase opened the door.

"What would sir like?"

It asked in a small voice.

"I request of you to tell your masters that an Auror is here under official ministry business in regards to their son, Draco Malfoy."

He told it with a practiced, Ministry tone. The house elf nodded and disappeared with a snap of its fingers. After some minutes the same elf appeared and ushered him in.

Harry declined an offer to take his cloak and walked deeper in to the halls of the mansion. He turned his head slowly, trying to take it all in. While it was rather large for his tastes (he had never grown accustom to living spaces larger than his flat and he supposed that came from living under the Dursley's stairs for the first 11 years of his life) he had to admit it was beautiful. It was full of dark furniture and finishing which was complimented by gleaming silver that glinted around the edges of everything, giving it all a serpentine element. Harry felt a tug at his trousers and looked down. The elf pulling at him made a small squeal of,

"This way, sir!"

And padded off in to the gloom. Harry followed, his footsteps echoing through the empty halls. He walked through long stone corridors that gave off a chilling air and passed rooms upon rooms full of doubtlessly expensive things—some wide open for any visitor to admire the rich elegance of the possessions inside and others closed off by fancy, ornate doors. After a good five minutes of weaving after the house elf and only managing to stumble once at the shock of seeing a large, Victorian-esque portrait of Draco Malfoy sneering down at him haughtily Harry was stopped by the elf in front of large, cherry wood doors with carved images that took a disgustingly violent edge. He stepped forward, breathed in a deep sigh of distaste, and knocked three times on the extravagant doors.

The seconds felt stretched in to hours as they passed while the knock echoed around Harry in the deafening silence before the door swung slowly open and the grim face of Lucius Malfoy appeared behind it. He didn't look at all surprised, so Harry guessed the house elf had told him exactly _which _auror was on their doorstep. After a few seconds staring match Lucius sighed and said tiredly,

"Come in, Auror Potter. I suppose we have much to discuss."

Harry nodded at him in forced resignation at the fact that he would have to speak civilly with Lucius Malfoy for the next hour or so. That is, if he wanted the chance to find Malfoy—which of course he did. No matter how difficult the mystery or the person in question, there had only been two cases to date that Harry had to pull out of and he didn't plan to make a third just because it was Draco sodding Malfoy that would most likely benefit from his work the most.

The interior of this room was as choice as the past rooms. It was covered head-to-toe in Slytherin chic and clearly befitted a Malfoy. Near the center of the room and close to an old, decorated hearth sat Narcissa Malfoy in a rather tall red velvet chair in front of a short mahogany tea table set with two china tea cups and saucers and a large, four level sandwich-and-pastry plate. Mrs. Malfoy called a house elf to bring Harry a seat and an extra teacup before returning her deep pools of grey to him. Harry nodded at her and gave her what he hoped was a small, sympathetic smile. He had never been particularly fond of any of the Malfoy's of course but if asked to choose one Narcissa Malfoy was by far Harry's favorite. He had barely exchanged a word with her since she had saved him six years ago in the Forbidden Forest, save a quick but surprisingly heartfelt thank you after testifying at Malfoy's trial.

"So,"

Harry started, taking the seat the elf had brought for him and accepting the warm cup of tea.

"I need to know everything; when Mal—Draco went missing, where he was the last time you saw him, had he been hanging around anyone suspicious lately…"

Lucius looked at Harry with cold blue eyes.

"We've already explained this to another pair of Aurors, can't they keep track of information at the Ministry anymore?" Lucius sneered.

Harry fought to keep the scowl off his face as he replied,

"Yes but that was the set of general Aurors _Mr. Malfoy_, I'm here to do a more in-depth investigation. I've read the file but it also helps to hear the information from the source, sometimes we uncover new details thought previously impertinent."

Lucius scowled but took a seat in his grandiose ebony chair next to Narcissa.

"All right _Auror Potter_–"

He spat the name out as if it was something disgusting.

"–What would you like to know?"

After an hour and a half of questioning the Malfoy's, four cups of tea, and seven mini sandwiches Harry realized that they had no new information or details to offer him. He sighed internally and stood, placing his fragile cup carefully back down on the elegant saucer, and ran a hand through his soft hair.

"Thank you for your assistance,"

Came the standard Auror farewell.

"We will owl you when there is a new development in the case."

Narcissa stood as well and held out a delicate hand. Harry took it in his and she shook it minutely. She looked up at him and he saw an emotion akin to sorrow cross her features.

"Please Auror Potter—Harry. Please find him."

Harry nodded and looked at her with earnest, deep green eyes, effect only slightly dimmed by the big, round glasses he had never taken the time to replace. Harry may not like the git but Narcissa deserved to know her son was safe.

"I will."

He promised. Harry turned to leave and walked a few steps before turning back again.

"Do you think it would be possible for me to search Draco's room? To look for evidence, I mean. It didn't say whether the previous team did a sweep yet…"

He trailed off at the slightly furious look on Malfoy Senior's face. Lucius Malfoy opened his tight mouth—to shout at Harry no doubt—but Narcissa cut in.

"Of course you may. But I do ask that you respect our wishes when we ask you to put something down."

Her husband shot her a look of pure loathing and then turned it upon Harry. Harry nearly flinched at the unforgiving grey eyes that were piercing him and quickly looked at Narcissa. She wordlessly passed him, pushing open the enormous door and Harry stepped in the same direction to follow when he felt something cold and sharp land on his right shoulder. Lucius pulled on his cane, flipping Harry around to look at him.

"If this has just been some Ministry conspiracy to attack my family—"

"Mr. Malfoy,"

Said Harry coldly, not taking his eyes off the other as he spoke.

"I promise you, the Ministry is _not _just trying to find evidence against your family. We all just want to… Move on."

"Well of course _you_ would say that,"

He growled, looking slightly mad.

"If I had wanted you in Azkaban, Mr. Malfoy,I wouldn't have spoken at your trial at all."

And with that, Harry stalked off in the direction that Narcissa had disappeared to. Harry caught up to her in a few seconds and followed her through a few twisting corridors and up a grand staircase before she stopped him in front of a room with a dark door. She looked him over one last time and nodded to herself, as if confirming her judgment of him before unlocking the door with a little brass key. He smiled at her tightly and walked in to the large room. It was full of fashionably dark furniture that gave off an ambiance of dangerous welcome that looked as if it hadn't been entered in weeks.

He slowly walked farther in to the dusty room and took a better look at all of it; the plush sofa, the dark wood chairs, and the forest green king sized bed. He turned to nod encouragingly at Narcissa but she had disappeared back in to the depths of the Manor for the time being, no doubt to calm her husband down. Sighing, Harry got to work upturning Malfoy's carefully organized dressers with a flick of his wand.

After fifteen minutes of searching to no avail, Harry was ready to give up and accept that whoever had kidnapped Malfoy had been immaculate in their attempt to not leave any clues. Muttering a reorganizing charm Harry turned to leave but his ready trained eye caught a slip of white that was sticking out from under the ostentatious rug. A burning curiosity over took Harry and he bent over to pick up the piece of hiding paper. He flipped it over and his eyes widened in surprise. On the card, printed in large twisting letters was written:

Mr. Hardwin's Gentleman's Pleasure Club

Oakburn Ally, London

Harry's brows rose. Whether Mr. Hardwin's was Malfoy's place of employment, a place that he frequented, or a group of people he just shouldn't have gotten mixed up with Harry didn't know. Harry wasn't even positive he understood what a Gentleman's Pleasure Club _was_ (although he did have a fair few ideas). He was, however, very keen to investigate this new turn to the difficult case. Harry exited the room of his school nemesis and bid farewells to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy; promising to contact them again if any new evidence should arrive. Pushing out the door and disapperating as soon as the wards would allow him to do so, Harry mused what a high class albeit shamed aristocrat would be doing anywhere near a 'Gentleman's Pleasure Club'.

Harry landed back at the Ministry with a crack, deciding to take his newfound information to Terry Boot; who was now head auror of the MLE. Harry walked through the tall corridors toward the raspy elevators, nodding every now and then at college's he recognized. When the elevator finally arrived, letting out two people Harry did not recognize, one goblin, and a flurry of folded paper birds weaving between the bobbing heads Harry stepped inside, pressing the off-white seventeen and casting another curious glance at the paper in his hand.

"Terry," Harry greeted with a nod.

"Harry," he nodded, giving him a stressed smile. "Have you started to investigate the Malfoy case yet?'

"Yes. That's why I'm here, actually…"

"Auror Potter I know you don't like him and I'm sorry but all the other Aurors are busy with the Miroff case and you know—"

"I don't want a case change. I need permission to go undercover at a… er—place where Mal—the missing wizard may be located."

Silently, Harry handed over the business card. Terry glanced at it, his eyes widening minutely; unsuccessfully trying to mask his surprised expression with a nod.

"Okay, Auror Potter. Let me sign out your wand."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, looking away and doing his best not to flush.

After the war, security measures at the Ministry had been tightened immensely and all Aurors were required to sign in and out their wands with the head Auror before investigating a case; intricate tracking spells and wards were placed on the thin wood, ensuring the safety of the Auror and the wand both. It was a bother and had put nearly every Auror in MLE at their wits end; including Terry, who was contently bombarded with apologetic knocks on his door at all hours of the day.

Terry handed Harry back the card and a still-warm piece of paper with his fancy signature drawn across the bottom left line. Harry took them and a snatched a quill out of the jar on his desk, messy scrawl decorating the right. The tip of his wand glowed a calming shade of blue before fading in to its usual deep brown. Harry replaced the speckled quill and walked out the door, thanking Terry. He made his way back down to his office on level six and smiled as he spotted a familiar mop of red hair.

"Ron!"

Ron turned to face the speaker and when he saw it was Harry his face lifted in a familiar grin before giving Harry a sympathetic look.

"Heard you got stuck on the Malfoy case. That's tough mate. Feel like a drink at the Leaky? My shift will be over in ten minutes."

When Harry just huffed in response, Ron gripped his arm and wheeled them towards his office. They chatted for a bit about their cases before apperating out to a corner near The Leaky Cauldron. Harry followed his best friend in to the dreary pub, vowing to get smashed before setting out on the quest for Malfoy the following day.

The next morning found Harry outside 1906 Oakburn Allay in a glamour made to look like an over-weight fifty something man with a badly receding hair line and the taste of hangover potion still lingering in his mouth. He glanced up at the looming building that made Malfoy manor look like a fun house and stepped forward to push the door open. Two largely muscled security guards gave him a once over and let him pass after handing him a bid sheet with a large _52 _on it and asking him to give up his wand. This was no trouble for Harry. He knew that if it came to curses, he was advanced enough in wandless magic that he could get out with out a scratch.

He followed the directions the bouncer on the left had given him and walked in to a dank, humid room that had a scent Harry suspected came from sweat, blood, and sex. It was decorated with cheap, faux red velvet curtains that hung limply from the ceiling and gently brushed the floor. He took a seat three rows from the back next to an empty chair and a hollow-faced, bearded old man. Harry got himself situated, his unusually large bum hanging off both sides of the grey folding chair that had been provided. _Spend a day in the life of Vernon Dursley_ Harry thought vaguely. He waited about five minutes before the lights flickered, signaling that the—what ever it was—was about to start.

A loud ringing noise went off somewhere behind the stage and Harry focused his gaze on the stained, wooden platform. A largely muscled man with a scarred eye and a balding grey head of hair walked to the center, leather and metal boots clacking across the stage warningly.

"Welcome to Mr. Hardwin's." Came the croaked greeting. An American then, Harry noted.

"I hope you're all feeling a little rough tonight because our first boy loves it hard and fast."

The American gestured behind him and a brunette boy of barely sixteen was shoved out on to the stage wearing nothing but nipple clamps and shackles. He was fairly built with full, pink lips. Harry's mouth dropped open in horror as the American slapped him across the face and said in his gravelly voice,

"Isn't that right, you little bitch."

The boy shied away and nodded manically.

"Mmm," The man purred. "Good boy. I think you deserve a treat. How about a nice, juicy sausage."

The boy shut his eyes and seemed to be willing tears away. There was a scattering of hungry laughter from the audience before a few men put up their bids as the auctioneer upped the cost for the child. A price of thirty galleons was finally decided upon and the frightened boy disappeared behind a white wash door. The winner of the auction, a bulky man with 5'o clock shadow and a stained wife-beater, gave the American his pouch of gold and followed the boy behind the door with a frightening gleam in his eye and a proud smirk.

The auction continued on in this fashion for quite sometime, Harry growing more and more disgusted with these men as the time stretched on. A part of him, most likely his Gryffindor side, wanted to leap up when that first boy was forced to go in to the room and demand justice. Unfortunately, not only was that not his assignment but to do that would not help these men and probably only succeed in getting him thrown out.

"And last, but most certainly not least, we have our resident Pureblood. This Dragon is so cock-hungry he'll take it from anybody and everybody."

Harry's eye's snapped back to the stage as he felt a sick feeling settle in the pit of his stomach. The man gestured but this time, instead of pushing the prisoner out two black men came out gripping the man's arms tightly. He was, like so many others, wearing nothing. The rusty, steal cuffs that bound his wrists clinked and clanked as he shuffled forward. White-blond hair fell in to the man's face and stuck to his forehead, which was covered in blood and other bodily fluids Harry would rather _not _identify. The man glanced up miserably and his icy silver-blue eyes linked with Harry's glamoured brown ones. It looked as if Draco Malfoy _had_ been kidnapped after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: None of these fabulous characters are, or ever will be, mine. They are all the property of the brilliant and extremely talented Jo Rowling.**

Harry glanced away from the blond long after he had stopped looking at Harry. Malfoy was hard to look at but some how entrancing at the same moment. Like looking at the sun. His shoulders were slumped and his once sneering mask was breaking at the edges; letting fear and defeat through the cracks. How many times had Harry wished for something awful to befall the Slytherin ponce that would wipe the arrogant smirk off of his pale face? There was a time when Harry may have even laughed at this poor, beaten Malfoy and shrug it off as something he deserved. Now that he was older and more mature however, Harry saw the truly horrifying details that he would have missed or ignored long ago. The dark circles under Malfoy's eyes and slightly gaunt face revealed that he had probably not been allowed to properly sleep or eat in a few days without interruption from the owners of Mr. Hardwin's. Small cuts and bruises littered his body that a quickly cast healing charm could mend with ease.

"What do you think sugar, hmm?"

The American cooed at Malfoy, ripping apart Harry's mental list. The blond stood and said nothing, gazing at the ground. When it became clear that there would be no response to his question, the Auctioneer walked a few steps closer to Malfoy and grasped his pointy chin in one large, calloused hand; forcing Malfoy to look at him.

"I asked you a question Princess. Answer it like a good little pet or I may have to punish you."

The last was said with a teasing tone and glint in his eye.

"Go to hell."

Came Draco's reply, spitting in the American's eye. The large man looked absolutely furious and slapped Draco across the face with a sharp sound that carried all the way to the back where Harry was seated.

"You ungrateful little shit!"

Roared the man.

"Don't you have any manors, boy? I would have thought you, out of anyone here, would have learned proper behavior towards your superiors."

The man seemed to collect himself and calm down, a hideous grin twisting his already marred features.

"Looks like he's feisty tonight boys. How about I rent him out to three or four of you, what do you say?"

A loud cheer came from the prospectors and Harry felt rather sick again. The bids started rising; 20 galleons, 32, 54… Soon only six or seven men were left in the bidding pool, including the haggard old man that Harry sat next to. And he wasn't going to interfere, he really wasn't because this was the 'Observe the Enemy' portion of his investigation, not the 'Storm in with Guns Blazing and Be a Hero' portion. One glance to his left crumbled what little resolve he had remaining. The man was leering very obviously at Malfoy's… nether regions and muttering about things he wanted to do to the man that Harry wasn't even sure were possible. _Fuck the mission _he thought resolutely.

Silently, Harry raised his bidding ballad and cleared his throat. He tried his best to copy the hungry stare the man next to him was giving and said,

"I'll pay 100 galleons if I get him all to myself."

"Done,"

The American said, without batting an eye. There were a few catcalls and a great many more groans of unresolved lust. Harry quietly prided himself on sticking—_mostly_—to the assignment. He hadn't bollocksed any associations up, nor had he blown his cover. This would also give him a good chance to speak with Malfoy and it wasn't like they _had _to do anything more than talk. Harry firmly decided that he had made the right decision and got to his feet slowly.

He walked up to the American and the man looked him up and down.

"Haven't seen you around here before,"

"First time,"

Harry said in a gruff voice. The man held out a large hand and it took Harry a moment to realize he was asking for the galleons. _Sick bastard _Harry thought as he handed over his gold pouch. The man gestured casually to a door with a big number 7 above it. Harry could see the back of Malfoy's white head being pushed through the closing door and vaguely wondered if his own charmed arse would be too large to fit through the doorframe.

"Enjoy,"

Said the man; winking as Harry passed. He heard a few more howls before barely slipping through the open door and shutting it, effectively closing them off from all outside noise.

Harry turned to face Malfoy, ready to remove the glamour with a flurry of wandless magic and demand an explanation of the man's situation but before he could, Malfoy skittered half way across the room.

"Keep away from me, you dirty half breed."

"I'm not—"

Harry started to explain but the blond cut him off.

"Just keep well away. I don't want a single filthy finger to touch me, you got that?"

Harry opened his mouth to finish his sentence but the blond continued to back up with a murderous glare. It became clear that Malfoy was not going to let him talk any time soon or even listen to him, at any rate. So Harry sighed and turned away, wanting to remove his glamour without surprising the other.

"What are you doing?"

Malfoy asked suspiciously, as Harry began to mutter a string of Latin that would remove his false identity. Harry ignored him and continued his anti-enchantment, sagging slightly in relief when he felt his fake face begin to melt away. His body shrank and became more toned, his hair darkening and regrowing. Harry turned to face Malfoy; who was looking paler than usual (since the last time Harry had seen him anyway) and extremely shocked. Harry pulled out his specs from the folds of his robes and rubbed away a spot of dirt on his left sleeve saying,

"As I was trying to explain before, I'm not here for sex, Malfoy. I'm he—"

"Potter?" Malfoy asked incredulously. "_You're _here? But why… How… What?"

He finally settled on.

"I'm _here_," Harry continued as if uninterrupted. "On official Auror business. Namely, you. Or the lack of you, I suppose."

Harry looked pointedly at Malfoy, trying to get the other man to elaborate but he just sat down on the bed and stared at the Gryffindor. When it didn't look as if Malfoy planned to respond to Harry's probing comment, he edged closer to where Malfoy was perched atop the cotton-laden bed.

"Oi, Malfoy."

Harry nudged him with the toe of his Auror boot, now standing mere feet from a man he wouldn't have been able to sit in the same room with not seven years ago.

"I'm here to do a case on a missing person–you. So are you here of your own free will?"

Malfoy sneered at Harry.

"Does it look like I'm here of my own bloody free will?"

Harry considered how to phrase his first question right. He tried hard to keep anything derogatory or rude out of it; a feat in and of it's self.

"How did you get here?"

Harry asked the blond, pulling out a small notepad and a self-inking quill from the pocket of his enchanted trousers.

"Well first I stood up. Then I walked to the bed and sat down."

"_Malfoy_…"

"I _don't _know. The last thing I can remember is getting a Firewhiskey at The Black Cat and waking up in this disgusting place."

He gave the room a once over, as if seeing it for the first time and wrinkled his petite nose in distain. Harry wrote down what Malfoy had said, trying to ignore the tugging feeling he got in his stomach when he saw Malfoy's mock horror laid out across his elegant features.

"Do you know how long you've been here?"

Harry asked, sitting on the bed and crossing his legs.

"Two weeks, maybe more?"

Harry scribbled it down.

"What have they done to you? How have you been kept?"

"How does it bloody _look _like I've been kept Potter? Honestly, they'll let anyone be an Auror these days…"

Harry swallowed his annoyance and repeated his questions.

"It's not—I mean that's not important. What matters now is that you get me the hell out of here! There _are _wards on the doors, you know. So that the… _Others _like me can't easily escape. What's your plan then? That is to say if you've even got one."

Malfoy looked over at him and Harry's face turned guilty for a moment.

"You don't, do you? Well that's great. Just bloody fantastic. It's a good job the chosenone is here to save me with all his clever plans!"

Harry growled, losing the rest of his patience.

"Bugger off Malfoy! Give me a moment to examine the wards and I'm sure I can get us both out of here, but only if you stop being such an annoying prat!"

"Why Potter! I'm surprised at you! How would the head of the Auror department feel if he knew you spoke to your witnesses that way?"

Harry decided to ignore the sarcastic remark and focused his wandless magic on probing the wards. He pushed and pulled at them, feeling their energy and where they would give or harden at his magic's touch. After five minutes of testing them, Harry turned back to Malfoy and announced,

"It's an intricate locking system. We just need to find the key."

Malfoy studied his nails.

"Yes, I could have told you that Potter."

Harry stared at him in bemusement and anger.

"Anything _else _that could be important that you feel like sharing Malfoy?"

"Hmm, let me think… No. I do believe that's it. Well that and the fact that I know _exactly_ what the key is."

Harry let out an exasperated breath.

"And it is…?"

"You wont like it."

"When was the last time you cared about what _I _liked? Other than to torment me, I mean. Besides, I'm sure it can't be that awful. What is it, a blood ward?"

"No but something along those lines…"

"Malfoy," Harry turned to look the blond square in the face, trying to ignore the fact that he felt his pulse quicken as he looked in to Draco's light grey eyes. They looked like clouds on an almost-rainy day, an arctic glacier, and a serene lake all mixed in to one hard grey-blue colour.

"I swear, if you don't tell me what it is this instant I'll—"

But Malfoy interrupted Harry before he could finish his threat.

"It's a sex ward, Potter."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: None of these fabulous characters are, or ever will be, mine. They are all the property of the brilliant and extremely talented Jo Rowling.**

**A/N: Sorry this is so late! I know, I know–you all hate me. But I had to make a study puddle under my blankets as I had 3 tests today. Also, if this chapter is kind of choppy, it's because I wrote about two paragraphs at a time. -_- Editing is my friend. I hope you enjoy the latest (and late) chapter!**

"It's a—a _what_?"

"A _sex_ ward, Potter. Don't tell me you are unfamiliar with them…?"

"Of course I've _heard _of them, Malfoy. I just… Nobody has really used those since the Middle Ages. Why would they use them here? I'm sure the patrons have no trouble complying to the—ah _requirements_."

Malfoy blinked at him; baffled.

"Potter, this isn't just a house of ill repute; it's a _punishment_. Civilians taking the law in to their own hands." He said this as though it was the most obvious thing in the whole of London.

"But…" Harry trailed off, feeling slightly nauseous again. He cleared his throat.

"But why?"

A twisted smile appeared on Malfoy's gaunt face.

"How many Death Eaters weaseled their ways out of Azkaban?" Malfoy sent a sideways glance at Harry. "How many evil bastards got away that deserved to be punished?"

This last was said with a tone of almost-mockery.

"In 'Mr. Hardwin's' opinion, although I highly doubt that is his real name, quite a few too many. When the Ministry was able to be bribed and turn a blind eye to some of the better families he would not. He snatched us up, one by one, and made us work here."

Harry scribbled on his note-pad and frowned.

"But how does it relate to the wards?"

"_Sympathizers_, of course, Potter. I knew you were slow but I didn't think you were a complete dolt." Malfoy's eyes twinkled with mirth. "Oh well. I suppose we're all wrong sometimes, even the best and brightest." He held his head up haughtily.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It seemed that the whole experience had _not_ knocked Malfoy down a peg. _Too bloody bad_, Harry thought dryly. _Then some good may have come from the calamity_. As it were, Harry still needed answers and to start constructing a plan in which to take down 'Mr. Hardwin's'. He reigned in his annoyance at Malfoy's snark and pushed once more.

"Sympathizers?"

"Yeah, sympathizers of the people kept here. They could come in, pay for an hour, then leave without shagging anyone. Which wouldn't particularly be a problem if this were a normal brothel. But the people that work here; they don't just want money; they want vengeance. They want to see people like death eaters in pain. Completely destroyed; driven mental."

"Ah." Was all Harry managed to say. What was one supposed to say in this sort of situation anyway? 'Sorry you got raped mate but don't worry, your old school enemy is here to hear all about it.' Somehow, that didn't seem like quite the right approach. He mulled over how to continue; all his questions answered. The light feather quill expertly balanced in his hand flickering away. _All but one_ his brain supplied after a minute.

"So… If there's a sex ward, and we're trapped inside…" Harry trailed off; drawing back from his perch at what was implied. "There's got to be some other way to get through—a bypassing mechanism or something. Right?" He said; voice growing panicked. When Malfoy didn't answer after a few seconds Harry looked up and felt a knot grow in his stomach. The git looked almost resigned.

"_Right_?" He tried again desperately.

"Well I really wouldn't know, Potter." Draco said coolly. "It's not exactly my division, is it?"

Harry stared at the blond for another few moments before leaping off the bed and moving to the center of the room; closing his eyes. He sent his wandless magic reaching out from his core stretching from his fingertips and toes; feeling the wards once more and checking for anywhere he might have missed a loophole or weak spot. Once he had gotten a good second idea of the wards; he took his magic and threw it at the barriers.

After an hour of unsuccessful battle against the ancient spells, Harry collapsed on to the bed next to Malfoy, exhausted.

"Fuck." He muttered, too past tired to care about professionalism.

"I see you were unsuccessful then, Potter? Bit full of it to think you could undo six hundred year old magic."

"Git." Was all Harry managed in response.

He threw a hand up to his face and covered his eyes. He knew that they should really devise a plan that would allow them to leave with out the usual requirements but he was just too damned tired. Using most of his magic had really drained him; all he really wanted to do was curl up and take a nap. But Harry vehemently refused to do so with Malfoy so close and unrestrained; and he really wanted to get out of Mr. Hardwin's. He was not going to sit and wait in a room with Malfoy–of all people, for days–possibly weeks–until someone discovered his absence and send out a search party for him—inadvertently destroying any cover he would still have had. Using the very last reserves of his strength, Harry sat up and cracked his fingers.

"Okay, Malfoy. How do you propose to get us out?" Harry asked, sarcastic but quite curious to see if Draco actually did have some idea of how to get them out of the prison.

"We could always do it the traditional way." Malfoy suggested airily, as if discussing the time of day or the weather. Harry sputtered. In fact, he was quite sure if had he been drinking soup, tea, or any other such nonsense it would have flown across the room and sprayed much of the pristine carpet.

"Wh—What? We most certainly will not!"

Malfoy's eye sparkled with mischievousness.

"Why Potter, never been with another man before? It's quite easy, I assure you. Hurts a bit at first but you'll get used to it. You'd be such a good little bottom." He said gleefully; enjoying the flush that was steadily growing more and more pronounced on the brunettes face. _Two can play at that game_, Harry thought.

"I assure you Malfoy, were we doing anything of the sort _you _would be the one writhing around underneath me." Actually hearing what he'd just said, Harry finally turned the colour of a radish and followed it hurriedly with: "Not that we _will _be doing anything of the sort, anyway. Now stop being thick and help me figure out an actual escape plan."

Malfoy raised one immaculate eyebrow but said nothing, an odd smirk playing across his face. Harry ignored the expression and continued attempting to think up ways that they could escape–or at least something in the room that would play aid to any plans that they could think up.

"But _really, _Malfoy. Just… It doesn't have to be big just something–anything to go on. The tiniest bit of information could be vital to our figuring out how to get out."

"Potter." He replied; sounding progressively more irritated. "I. Don't. Know. If I _did_ have any idea–and I mean any at _all_–I promise you that I would have been out of here by now. The sooner you get that through your dense skull, the better."

A few more moments of mulling over strategies–and quickly discarding them–when an idea struck him that was so beautifully obvious.

"People will be coming for me if I don't turn up to work eventually. We could just wait it out in here. They have trackers on my wand."

"No." Came the short response. It was masked in coldness and enmity but past that Harry could spot glints of fear.

"Why?"

"It makes no difference to you _why _we can or cannot do something, Potter." Malfoy hissed, all humorous tones disappearing in less than a second. "Keep your nose out of other peoples business."

"_Why_, Malfoy?" Harry pressed. He certainly wasn't going to let something go just because Malfoy had told him to. In fact, that gave him all the more reason to press on.

Malfoy sat opposite him, scowling but saying nothing. After a few seconds, Harry made a great show of rolling his eyes.

"Listen Malfoy. I need to kn—"

"You want to know so bloody badly? Fine. It's because they will come in and… assist you."

Harry swallowed and looked away, feeling guilty. _I shouldn't have pressed…_ He thought. _I always have to press him_. Harry shook his head with a start. It was odd–having two different sides to Malfoy–one was the prat that he had come to know and despise and the other, a vulnerable client that needed his understanding and support. He knew he had to help Malfoy, no matter his personal feelings for the pompous arse.

"_Forcibly _assist you." Malfoy continued.

"But…" Harry trailed off. "I'm a _client_. Don't they work for me?"

"I've told you before Potter; it's not money that they're interested in, not really. You don't come back? Fine–twenty more men can come and replace you."

"They can't, I mean, they wouldn't…"

Malfoy gave Harry an incredulous look.

"They can, they have, and they will again–if they're not stopped. So I propose a… truce, of sorts. Just until we get out of here. I need your help to get me out of this place–" The word was filled with distain and Malfoy sniffed. "–and you need my help to solve your case. After we get out, we can go back to ignoring each other like we've been doing so nicely in the past."

Harry thought it over—_a truce with Malfoy_. Back in his Hogwarts days, he wouldn't have even dreamed of it. But now… Now he was desperate. And Malfoy really had nothing to lose. Even though a little voice at the back of his head told him that this was a bad idea and that one could _never _trust a Malfoy, Harry replied positively.

"Yeah. Alright, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "What would this truce entail?"

"Well…" Malfoy pondered this for a moment. "I would give you all the information you need to make a case against them, as well as willing to appear in trial—"

"Wouldn't you have done that anyway?"

Malfoy scoffed.

"Of course not. I can't go parading around on show for everyone to see my weaknesses. Or at least, I won't unless you agree to these terms. It's not proper; I'm a pureblood heir, I need to be held in the highest prestige I possibly can."

"Fine." Harry conceded. "And what's my part of the bargain?"

"Simple. Just get me out of here and tell me what's going on with the case."

"Malfoy." Harry pointed out. "How can I promise to get you out if I can't even get myself out?"

"Ah. Well here's where things get slightly more… Interesting. We actually _do _have a definite _thing_ that will get us out." He flashed a slight cocky smile in Harry's direction.

"Or to get you out, at least. We can work on it from there."

"I am _not_ sleeping with you, Malfoy." Harry deadpanned.

The blond's brow wrinkled in annoyance.

"It's the only way we know will get you out. Are you really so stubborn that you would wait for them to come in here and—"

"No! But it's just… You're you; and I'm me; and…" Harry ran his fingers through his dark fringe.

"Brilliant observation Potter, very studious of you to notice something like that. Glad I've got Potter on my side; he's ever so clever."

"Just… Give me a second to think it through all right?"

So Harry did. He sat and thought—weighing the pros vs. the cons of fucking Draco Malfoy. It _is _rather important that they both get out of Mr. Hardwin's. And it's not like anyone had to know. What good would it do him to sit in this little room and wait for something to happen? On the other hand, he was going to have to shag _Malfoy_. _Well it's not the worst you could do_, thought the little voice in the back of his head. _He's not half bad looking, as far as blokes go. Actually, he's rather fit. Quite handsome to be honest. In fact, he _is _sort of… pretty. Kind of beautiful, really. _Harry blinked and shoved those thoughts away to analyze sometime later. _Way _later. All in all, however, it did seem that sleeping with Malfoy would be the most successful progression of events. So he said so.

"Well Malfoy, I suppose you're right. Okay I… I agree. To your truce."

"_Our _truce, Potter."

Harry held out his hand, fingers trembling slightly. Malfoy looked down at his calloused palm with something akin to hurt and wounded pride flashing across his face for a split second–so fast Harry probably would have missed it if he'd blinked–then hid it back under his steel-grey eyes; the storming depths of his soul hidden to Harry once more. Draco reached out a delicate hand and slid it in to Harrys, his skin surprisingly soft and warm. Harry squeezed his hand gently for a second and let it fall away, both boys turning slightly pinker than previous. Harry felt a cold tingling sensation of loss flit across his skin, though they had barely touched more than ten seconds. _This is going to be a very interesting day indeed_…


	4. Chapter 4

** Disclaimer: None of these fabulous characters are, or ever will be, mine. They are all the property of the brilliant and extremely talented Jo Rowling.**

**YAY FINALLY TIME FOR SOME SLASH! SO IF YOU DON'T LIKE DELICIOUS GAY DRARRY SEX I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR DOING READING THIS FIC BUT GOOD LUCK BECAUSE THIS WILL CONTAIN TWO PEOPLE WITH PENIS' COVORTING TOGETHER IN A SEXUAL MANOR.**

"So how do you, er… Want to do this?" Harry asked, blushing profusely.

He still couldn't believe he had agreed to fuck Malfoy. It _was _Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. _I am going to deeply regret this_, he thought.

"And here I was thinking you'd promised to shag my brains out." Malfoy said, clearly for the sole benefit of watching Harry squirm.

"No that's not what I—I mean, what do I have to do?"

Although still red in the face, Harry was genuinely curious. His list of sexual conquests was close to zero, with only a few awkward tries with Ginny and a woman named Martha whom he had met by way of Ron. He couldn't imagine what might or might not be required for sleeping with a bloke and didn't want to hurt Malfoy or worse, do something incredibly thick that would result in Malfoy laughing at him.

"I've been spelled ready." Malfoy sighed, as if this should be obvious.

Harry was completely at a loss.

"How do you—"

"Irrelevant, Potter." Malfoy said, throwing a bottle of what at closer inspection, proved to be lubricant. Harry stared at it stupidly. After a few moments, Malfoy huffed in impatience. "For Merlins sake, you _do _realize that we need to be on the same side of the room as each other, don't you? Or are you too… inexperienced to know how this works?"

Harry glared at Draco and that was it, the last of his patience slashed in to smithereens. He removed his glasses and tugged off his shirt in a calmer manor than he would have thought possible a minute ago and started to work on his trousers. Draco lounged on the bed, clothes being nonexistent on his part, and drunk in the sight of a half naked Harry Potter with a hungrier gaze than Harry was really comfortable with. But as awkward as Harry felt, he refused let Malfoy continue to ridicule him and hell; he _was _a Gryffindor after all. Where was all his courage; his bravery?

So with a confidence that he never knew he had, Harry shoved his pants and trousers off all in one go. He was even half hard already, for reasons that were definitely _not _the way Malfoy was staring at him. Harry flipped open the rounded blue cap to the lube and squeezed a generous amount in to his hand. Studiously trying to ignore Draco's lingering leer—and failing entirely—Harry took his prick in hand, shivering slightly at the cool gel. Giving himself a few good pumps, Harry shifted over to the bed and looked over Malfoy once more. He let his gaze linger along the slight cheekbones, the slender, pale waist, and the slim legs. Draco was far more beautiful than Harry would ever be willing to admit. His slightly dirty, white hair creating a soft halo around his head and hooded grey eyes looking up at Harry with impatience and something that if he hadn't known it was just to unnerve him, Harry would have sworn was lust.

Harry climbed on top of Malfoy so that they were almost nose-to-nose and leaned down; turning is head slightly to the right so that his warm cheek was brushing the side of Draco's smooth face. He felt his breath coming out hot next to Draco's ear, and the other man shivered.

"None of this leaves this room." Harry said in a deadly whisper, his lips brushing Malfoy's earlobe. Draco's breath hitched and he nodded wordlessly. "Good."

Harry drew back and measured Malfoy closely before leaning in to press a closed-mouthed kiss on to Draco's pink lips. The blond however, had tired of waiting and just as Harry was about to draw back, fisted a long hand in to Harry's raven-black hair and opened his mouth; sweeping a hot tongue across Harry's lips.

Harry opened his mouth and snogged Draco back; carefully at first but shyness and uncertainty—indeed all thought fled as Draco swept his tongue over the roof of Harry's mouth. Harry moaned in to the kiss and threaded a hand under Draco's fit waist, pulling the Slytherin tight against his body.

Their lips broke away and Harry left a trail of steamy, open-mouthed kisses down Draco's neck and shoulders. Pulling away, Harry dragged Draco's hips up once more and let his cock drag teasingly over his arsehole. Draco's delicate hands tightened in the soft sheets and he let out a strangled moan. Harry trailed his hands up Draco's thighs and along his lower abdomen, letting his fingers ghost over the flushing skin but not yet touching his slightly leaking member. He shifted backwards and blew a jet of cool air on to the neglected appendage.

"Bloody fuck, P—Potter!" Draco exploded. "Will you just… ohge—get on with it?"

Harry smiled charismatically at Draco.

"Your wish is my command."

In lieu of a mock-salute, Harry licked a strip up Draco's cock from base to tip; tongue lingering in the slit before pulling away mournfully, eyeing the enticing piece. They had a sex ward to open. Harry raised himself and lined his stiff, aching member up with the blond's hole. He slowly pressed the tip of his prick in to Draco and oh _fuck _if it wasn't the best thing he had ever felt; so warm and wet and _tight_. He continued to push in slowly but Draco let out a frustrated groan and ground his hips down on Harry's cock. After a few awkward thrusts, Draco let out a noise, which hardly sounded human. Harry, deciding it was most definitely a good noise, set a fast pace. Harry knew he shouldn't be enjoying it; didn't understand why being with a man in this way felt so right but was too far-gone to care. The emotions he could deal with later. All he had to do right now was have a damn good shag, if it had to be with a man andMalfoy then, so be it.

Harry let his left hand wander, brushing over Draco's body as he pounded the other man in to the headboard; the right he trailed up Draco's member that was lying flat on his stomach and took it in hand, accentuating each thrust with a twist or a pull that made Draco scream. Harry leaned in to Draco's chest and licked slowly at his nipple. Draco fisted Harry's hair and Harry bit down hard, quickening the pace of his pelvis.

Draco moaned and thrashed under Harry's touch, sending generous waves of pleasure straight to his prick. Harry moved his head back up to reclaim Draco's lips and used his free hand to bend his left leg up against his body. He was drowning in a sea of pleasure, the intense sensations creating an almost sensory overload. He opened his eyes to see Draco staring back at him; passion flaming in the grey depths and suddenly Harry felt Draco pulse around him, spilling in to his hand with a scream muffled by their lips. Draco's hands scraped down his back and it was too much; Harry came, biting Draco's lip and groaning; breath coming out hot through his nose. It was like nothing Harry had ever felt before, not with Ginny, not with anyone. He was gone—completely entranced with the man below him and spots flashed across his vision until finally he could not come anymore.

He collapsed on top of Draco, breathing heavily. The blond still had his eyes shut and looked almost peaceful. _This is nice _thought Harry unconsciously. But far too soon, he felt firm, gentle hands pushing on his chest and he rolled over to the other side of the bed, his now-soft cock pulling out of Draco unceremoniously. After a few moments of regaining his breath silently, Harry pushed himself up with a start. _Oh shit. I'm lying in a bed with Malfoy, whom I've just shagged. I just shagged Draco Malfoy. And I liked it._

Flipping himself around, Harry shuffled his way out of bed, the soft sheets sliding with him. He walked mechanically over to his clothes, picking up first his pants and trousers, then his shirt and finally finding his glasses on the table which he'd dropped them on. Looking around for something to clean himself with, Harry found that some sort of spell had already freshened him as if he had just taken a shower.

After he had pulled on his clothes, shoved his glasses on his nose, and fruitlessly tried to flatten his hair, Harry turned and nodded at Malfoy—who was still sprawled comfortably on the bed—feeling awkward and somewhat wary.

"So… I guess I'll er—contact you if I get important information on the case. I'll try to find a counter curse to this uh sex ward." The last two words were said with a flush. Malfoy nodded at him lazily.

"Great." Harry rubbed his hands on his jeans. After a few moments he turned to leave but Malfoy called out to him once more. "Oh and Potter?"

"Hmm?"

"_Do _try to remember to put your glamour back up; it may confuse them if a mutant Hagrid walked in here and _you_ walk out."

"Right." Replied Harry, who was still more than a little disoriented. "See you later then."

As he walked out, Harry frowned deeply. He was worried. Not because he'd done something he'd deeply regret and that could easily humiliate him, or at least put him and Ron on the outs. No, what Harry was worried about was something far worse. Harry was worried because he didn't regret it, not one bit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: None of these fabulous characters are, or ever will be, mine. They are all the property of the brilliant and extremely talented Jo Rowling.**

It had been a couple of hours since Harry had turned in his mission debriefing when Terry Boot stormed into his office, head held aloft as he brandished the file at him threateningly. Harry looked up as he configured his expression into one of mock surprise. He had been awaiting this conversation with dread for the past hour.

"Auror Potter! What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" yells Boot across the desk.

Harry starts to stand from his chair but is shoved down with a whispered word and brandish of wand from the Head Auror.

"I'm trying to work on my case, Sir. In fact, I'm doing some investigation right now, so if you wouldn't mind—"

Boot cut him off mid sentence.

"This is not a small matter, Harry." he hissed. "If word were to get out that you've… This could compromise the whole case!"

"If you'd just look in my file again, I think you'd realize why everything was… necessary."

He flushed up at the 'everything', remembering just _what_ that was and how much he'd enjoyed it, no matter how hard he wished he could deny it. He pushed his glasses up on his nose in a nervous gesture as he released the wooden furniture slowly.

"You should have just waited for back up! I mean, Merlin's beard, Harry! If I didn't know you any better, I'd think you have some weird sexual desire for Malfoy."

He laughed at that notion, which Harry quickly followed with a weak chuckle of his own. He rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip.

"Good thing you, er–know me better than that." said he without vigour.

"Well… as long as the case is as good and well buggered as it can be, I give you…" he lets out a long suffering sigh before continuing, "Permission to do whatever you see fit to solve this case. Just… don't get yourself into too big a mess, eh Harry?"

Harry gaped at Boot with an expression of pure shock. Wasn't it Boot's job to see to it that he never had to see Malfoy anywhere ever again? He shouldn't be encouraging this type of behaviour! Harry's fist curled into a ball at his side; anger slowly rose inside him again like a serpent as it wakened from the cool floor of its cage.

"Head Auror Boot," he said with a barely concealed fury. "With all do respect, I don't think that this sort of behaviour should be condoned, and that _perhaps_, I should be taken off the case."

Boot raised an eyebrow at him and he could feel the power surge through his veins, all the power it would take to throw him across the room with a simple flick of his wrist. It just wasn't fair. Why did it have to be _him _who was always given the difficult, stress-inducing tasks? It seemed, however, that his companion was completely aware of the effect it was having on Harry.

"Listen, Harry." He said pityingly. "I'm really sorry I have to do this, but I am ordering you to keep working on this case in _whatever manner _is necessary to helping the victims and apprehending the perpetrators. So please, for the sake of all those young boys you saw, _shag Malfoy_."

Harry's anger disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. He was overcome with a sudden feeling of shame as he acknowledged that he nearly bypassed a chance to help defenseless people in need just because he was nervous about seeing Malfoy again.

"Can't you just send Ron?" he grumbled jokingly, and then inwardly gagged at the thought of Ron and Malfoy anywhere near each other's crotches for any reason other than a good hex. From the look he received in return, Boot had clearly not enjoyed that mental image either.

"Right." Replied he. "You're off for the rest of the day. Go have a drink at the Leaky and good luck to ya, mate."

Harry simply sighed and nodded at him, writing a message to Hermione about dinner as his boss turned on his heel and left the room. Once finished, he folded up the letter and murmured a muted spell to it as he propelled it into the air. It whizzed off in the direction of the floo grates. Harry leaned back in his chair and awaited a rejoinder from his other best friend, hoping that she was free tonight—he had a lot on his mind that he needed to discuss with her.

Four hours and a stop at home to change later, and Harry is knocking on Ron and Hermione's yellow door tiredly. When his bushy haired friend opened the entry to their colourfully adorned home, she smiled at Harry warmly and hugged him. Harry flushed and muttered a gruff complaint of:

"Hermione!"

Before pulling back and grinning at her softly in return, specs even more askew than they had been previously, as Hermione's great hair had gotten caught in them and pulled them down slightly. He steadied them and blinked a couple of times in order to reorient himself in the sea of violent shades that adorned his best friends' house.

It was an interesting combination of what a traditional Weasley family home looked like, with the wobbly chairs and tipsy furniture and what have you, and a neutral, inviting muggle home. Hermione's chairs and sofa were spread out across the living room in various shades of beige and brown, all covered in books and poorly hidden chocolate wrappers, courtesy of Ron, and wallpaper of the brightest blue, purple, and red. Somehow, however, the mad eccentricity that had come with Ron and the calming, homely hallow that had migrated with Hermione managed to become the most comfortable, relaxed home that anyone had ever known.

"How are you, Harry? It feels as though we haven't talked in ages." said Hermione with a grand gesture of welcome into the kitchen. He entered with a nod and sat down in one of the oak chairs, hearing it creak as he adjusted his weight and leaned on the counter. His friend walked over to the stove and brushed a few strands of messy hair out of her face. She stirred the pot containing what looked like some sort of pasta, then flipped on the kettle. Harry cleared his throat and said,

"I'm… fine. How've you been, Hermione?"

Harry's gaze shifted nervously, though what he had come to talk to her about was, in fact, Draco, he was not quite ready to breach that subject as of yet, and he ran his hand over the back of his neck.

"Fantastic, actually. I've been working at the lab with Doctor Wilson; we may have discovered a new form of plant life in the Atlantic Ocean!"

Harry grinned at Hermione across the room and congratulated her, though he truly had no idea if this was a huge, award-deserving discovery, or just a minor, monthly occurrence. The copper pot, which was sat upon the stove started to whistle, and Hermione picked up the metal handle with a floral patterned oven-mitt. She accio'd a few mugs, some teabags, cream, and sugar from the various places it had been hidden about the kitchen and poured a steaming stream of hot water into each of their cups. Once the herbs had steeped properly, she removed the teabag and he graciously accepted the cup of tea handed to him, tapping an irregular beat against the side of his face. He stared pensively into the grayish water as the cream created soft, white clouds that congealed for a moment before settling—their last nod at a rebellion before conforming to the irrevocable. He sighed, stirring it slowly with his other hand and recalled days much as this occurring a year ago, yet so different in the same instance.

One year ago, Hermione had been rushing around to study for her last exams at the muggle college she had decided to attend after about a month away from Hogwarts, as Harry had sat at this very same counter reading her flash cards as promised. Hermione had, of course, had double majored in both Woman's Studies and Marine Biology, wanting to take classes that would both challenge her as well as hold her interest. Unfortunately, Ron had needed to take double shifts at the office to support them as they moved into their house, and was not, therefore, with them many of the nights in which they would have dinner or see films, so Harry and Hermione would often find themselves stuck inside the house, Hermione because of her grand work ethic and Harry because he would rather help Hermione with her homework than be at home, alone, or stuck in a tense silence across the dinner table from Ginny.

"…and then we realized we had both been studying the properties Ecklonia Cava!" Hermione broke into his thoughts with a short giggle-and-snort, then, noticing that he wasn't paying her any mind, inquired half-irritably: "Harry, have you actually heard a word I've said?"

"Er, yeah…" replied Harry, his flushed face proving that he hasn't been listening to a word she's said. "Elkona Carva…"

The glare he received told him that Hermione was not to be fooled with his poor excuse. He took another sip of his drink and scooted back minutely when he observed that Hermione had that face of utter determination and stubbornness on it again, the one that nothing would remove, save the full and comprehensive riposte to her probing.

"Harry, what's wrong with you? You've been all out of sorts since you got here."

Though they were phrased as simple, polite inquiries, Harry knew the questions for what they really were—demanding and unrelenting. He wondered if just a general statement of: "_Work_." would do, but he really thought that it would create even _more_ questions, which was definitely not what he wished to be doing. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he should tell the whole truth, just to get it out there and never have to skirt around it again. The rather large downside to that was a) Hermione would know that he slept with Draco Malfoy—and liked it—and b) Hermione would never want to feel the need to keep something that big from Ron. Harry really didn't want to ruin his friend's partnership for something as trivial as a 23-year-old sexual identity crisis.

"Um… nothing. Really. I've just been, er, really busy with work." He responded, rushing into his weak finish. She raised her eyebrows at him but said nothing on the matter, simply turned and stopped the slowly stirring pasta spoon with a flick of her wand. Harry knew she was going to find out before the night was through.

After a hearty dinner and much lively discussion upon the more light-hearted adventures of their school days, the subject so often found on Harry's mind recently made an appearance in their conversation as Hermione regaled them with the tale of Professor Moody and the albino ferret. They were both guffawing by the end, he holding her up as they steadily made their way into the colourful living room for a conversational glass of firewhiskey.

When Hermione handed him a glass and they'd finally started to settle down, Harry stared into the amber liquid; as he inhaled the strong scent of liquor, he knew that he needed to tell Hermione what was plaguing him so, and that he would need to work up the courage to speak to Ron as well. The quite that surrounded them was not uncomfortable—it was almost like a blanket, actually, but, like a blanket, Harry knew he would have to rip it away and feel the brutal cold of the morning air to get anywhere else in the day. He glanced up at his friend, nervously smoothing down his hair as he said regretfully,

"So er… about Draco—_Malfoy_! About him,"

Hermione looked up at him, mild shock playing across her features.

"Yes, Harry? Whatever is it?" she asked, a suspicious edge creeping into her voice.

"I may have shagdDrcoMloy."

"I'm sorry?" she asked as confusion twisted her features.

"I might have… I mean, I sort of er, shagged him. Malfoy, I mean, obviously. It was for a case, of course! It's not like I wanted to."

Hermione stared at him for a second, and for the briefest of moments he thought she might have laughed, but she was too perceptive to know that this was no mischievous joke orchestrated by Ron and himself. She took a long, uncomfortable pause to consider the matter, scrutinizing him with her piercing gaze for much too long, in Harry's opinion. Finally, she responded with:

"Why are you telling me? I mean, aside from the obvious reason."

Harry heaved a great breath and glanced away as he took a big swig from his glass.

"Because I–I liked it."

"Oh. _Oh_." She said in slow realization. "_Oh_. Okay."

There was another awkward pause in which Hermione thought and Harry tried his best not to blush profusely. He bit his lip and gulped down the rest of his drink quickly.

"So is it just him, or are you bisexual?"

Harry starts at the inquiry and almost snorts out firewhiskey. He hadn't really thought about it, but once he had attempted to, all of his emotions and thoughts on the matter became a tangled knot inside of his head that he couldn't manage to untwine.

"I don't, uh, really know; but Hermione, please, just… don't tell Ron. I'll tell him soon but I just—I need to understand this by myself first. I just thought, I don't know, I thought you could help with it, somehow." Harry explained slowly, standing abruptly to leave when he realized that he might actually need to think this matter over on his own if he is to ever understand it. Hermione smiled at him kindly and hugged him in farewell.

"I won't, but you have to tell him—he's your best friend. And Harry? Be careful with him. You two maybe older, but he's still _Malfoy_. He will always be Malfoy, no matter how much he may become Draco, as well."

Harry nodded at her, trying to absorb ever piece of advice she gave him, but not really understanding her words, because he was all too aware of how wise she was.

"I will. Thanks, Hermione." He replied as he walked out to their front yard to apparate home. He arrived outside of 12 Grimmauld Place and stumbled aroound until he finally reached his room, somehow, and collapsed on the bed with an exhausted sigh. Tomorrow he would have to face Ron; tomorrow he had to work on the Draco Malfoy case; and tomorrow he had to face his innermost thoughts, but tonight, tonight he was going to sleep. Sleep he did, and he soon found himself entranced with a dreadful dream in which he was trying to unlock a door, but though he had the key, the metal refused to move. He would have given up long ago if something so important, so dear to himself and dire to his survival were not locked inside the accursed room. He pounded on the gate furiously, screaming, until the nightmare melted into a darker, quieter sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: None of these fabulous characters are, or ever will be, mine. They are all the property of the brilliant and extremely talented Jo Rowling.**

**AN: I'm sorry I never update; I'll try to publish a new chapter faster than this one has been!**

"Malfoy." Harry stated coolly, although in actuality he felt so nervous that he thought he might be sick.

"So you've come back, have you, Potter?" Draco replied, already lounging amongst the dark sheets with unbuttoned, scruffy shirt and a hint of filthy pants underneath. "I might have thought you would have gotten rid of this case soon as you could. Then again, you've never been one to back down from a challenge: I really shouldn't be surprised."

Harry simply swallowed and muttered, "Shut it a minute, will you? I need to work on these wards..." He closed his eyes and started to concentrate on the murmur of magic surrounding the room. Harry found them buzzing warmly at his return, but also with caution at whatsoever he may next try. He searched for any weakness in the layer of tight chains that kept them in the room and thought that maybe he could sear the memory's image of his last visit into the magical cage until they yielded and bended to his will. Try as he might, however, the wards simply wouldn't behave. He swore and scowled, ignoring the gleeful shout of: "Language, Potter!" that echoed across the room. He explored them deeper then, pushing past their original prickliness to look for their hearts and souls.

Many Witches and Wizards thought nothing of wards; they were simply complex security charms to them, not living creatures. Harry, however, knew better. He knew that what made a ward work so much better than any lock was not the magic inside of it, it was the way they became a new being once created, the way in which they gained a sentience of their own. This simple fact was one that had taken Harry way too many years to learn and, if he were to be completely honest, he only had learned it through the patient guidance of Hermione. He tried to reach deeper into the chaotic abyss of curious and hostile magic, but just as he was about to achieve contact with something, he felt Draco's arms wrap round his waist from behind and attempt to unclasp his belt buckle. "Agh–Malfoy! What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Harry flinched away; even though the touch was, in truth, more than welcome, this didn't stop him from being annoyed at the distraction from the devilishly tricky wards. If he hadn't known better, Harry would have thought Draco wanted them to—but no, that was ridiculous. Were Draco Malfoy to even fancy blokes, Harry was certain that he was the last one that Malfoy would ever want. Harry thought he saw a flicker of hurt pass over Draco's face, but it must have been wishful thinking because mere seconds later the wizard's face had returned to the snobby half smirk he had despised since first year.

"Just trying to get you out of here faster. Yours is not my favourite company, if you weren't aware." He was about to huff a sigh and return to his work in communicating—and possibly binding—with the ward, but all was put to the back of his mind when he caught a glimpse of a pale torso, marred only by a sinister-looking, yellowing bruise.

He swallowed and tried not to look too concerned; he was convinced he failed.

"When did—um, that is to say, why did you, er, get that?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow that told Harry that he hadn't been clear enough, so he reached out and ghosted his hand across Malfoy's abdomen.

"That." he repeated pointedly.

"Ah, that. I tried to escape yesterday morning during the... cell inspection." He looked as if he was hard-pressed to hold back a wince at the name and it was Harry's turn to lift his eyebrows. "Looks like you should have thought out a better plan," he snapped, refusing to admit that it was because of worry. Draco looked as if he were about to retort with something biting but instead, with a wry smile, said,

"It didn't turn out too well for me, no." There was a pause during which Harry felt extremely awkward and rubbed at the back of his neck while Draco's amused expression rapidly faded from his face.

"So we should, er—" he ejaculated at the same time Draco cleared his throat and said, "It's probably best we—". They looked at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do before Harry sent him an embarrassed grin, complete with a blush, which received a slight twitch of lips in return. The peacefully queer moment was shattered, however, and they both seemed to come back to themselves.

When Harry stayed rooted to the spot, still as unsure as ever, Malfoy gripped his arm tightly and pulled him to the bed.

"Come on then, Potter. We haven't got all day."

"Yeah, right. Sorry." Harry replied, any urge to start a row overcome by the need to hide away from this terribly awkward situation. He allowed himself to be brought to the bed and pushed down. Harry felt his trousers being tugged roughly off, followed quickly by his pants. Fortunately, he had the good sense to remove his shirt—had he not, he may not have ever allowed himself to be seen in public in said shirt again. Ever.

Malfoy pulled off his own boxers while neglecting to shed his unbuttoned white top and Harry once again marveled at the fluidity in which he was able to move. All of his life Harry had been clumsy and felt out of place in his own body—when he had first arrived at Hogwarts, he had been slightly jealous of the easy way in which Malfoy seemed to swagger around the school without so much as batting an eye. The want for sameness had ended there, however.

A hand was now on his thigh as a light body hoisted itself effortlessly onto his lap, and Harry could remember how those hands used to hold all the silverware, dainty but with an air of distaste and Merlin, he hadn't even known he'd been watching Malfoy that closely before now. Long, pale legs straddle his hips; and how many times before have they sat in exactly the same position, tearing and tugging and ripping at each other until nothing was left but raw passion. Those lips, once used to utter hurtful slurs at him were now content to leave biting kisses on his neck instead, and it wasn't so different, really. All it came down to was their intent, and he was sure that through it all, Malfoy was trying to hurt him still.

Harry's hands played across Draco's midriff—mind, as always, flashing back to that night that he had learned the true consequences of rash actions through the sight of blood, far too much blood—more blood than he thought anyone could have, and the agonizing feeling that it was all his fault. His fingers came to a halt at Draco's hips—clutching him so tightly that his nails dug into the flesh as he rode him with a slow fury that seemed to rise in Draco like a waking predator, like the fiery dragon for which he was named. With every roll of Malfoy's body, Harry released a low moan as he forced himself deeper into the man whom he once thought could be nothing more than a schoolyard bully.

He didn't even realize that he was making soft noises of plea in Draco's name until a hand was clamped over his mouth, the other put to use pulling at Draco's own prick.

"Don't." came the order in desperate and gasping tones, so he didn't. He switched to crying out unintelligible things into the hand until he was no longer able to vocalize what he felt. He bit down on the elegant palm as he came, making the skin between Draco's thumb and pointer finger bleed slightly. He felt Malfoy come too, their bellies spattering with warm ejaculet. The other man rolled off Harry quickly, sitting up and facing the wall with an unreadable expression.

Harry put on his clothing silently once more, this time more from the strange atmosphere of the room than any discomfort. Once dressed, he paused before turning to the door and clapped a comforting hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

"I will get you out," he promised. After a soft moment, he added: "Even if you are still an annoying prick." in an attempt to make Draco smile, even a little. It didn't.


End file.
